My Wild Highlander

by Vonda Sinclair

  "Maybe the servants, clansmen or even Kormad's men drank it before we arrived."

  "Aye. Or 'haps no one drank it because it never existed."

  They analyzed the books for more than an hour and she took notes of problems they ran into. Not only were things listed as paid for which he had not found on the estate, but many of the additions were wrong.

  "Surely Fingall cannot be worse at numbers and calculations than I am," Lachlan said. "Should be his specialty."

  "Indeed."

  He sighed. "I hate to release him from his duties. 'Tis a hereditary position. He told me the males of his line have held Am Fear Sporain for over two hundred years within the Drummagan clan."

  "But he is robbing us blind," she said. "And I do not think it is simply that he is unskilled at calculations."

  Lachlan nodded. "We shall question him."

  "Both of us?"

  "Aye."

  Angelique's gaze warmed and softened upon him, as if she might actually like him for this one moment in time. The look he'd so yearned to see on her face. Arousal flowed through him like warm honey. But any move he made might drive her away or make her revert back to her old animosity. Though she hadn't last night on the dark stair.

  Watching him, she lifted a hand and tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. The simple gesture riveted him and became more sensual than it should've been. He caught her hand and briefly kissed her wrist as her hand slipped through his.

  Her eyes grew round for a few seconds before she averted her gaze. He made no other movements. God, he loved her touch. His skin still tingled from the stroke of her silken fingertips. And the fragrance from her wrist—roses and woman—remained in his senses, intoxicating him.

  He imagined her crawling onto his lap, kissing him deeply and yanking their clothing aside. Near attacking him. Aye, right here in the solar, he wanted to take her, gently pushing into her, inch by torturous inch. She would be small and tight. Drenched, whimpering and moaning for him. But he would go slow and make her wait. Make her beg for more, faster, deeper.

  She faced him again. He did not know what she saw in his eyes, but her breath hitched and her eyes darkened. Do not look away, he wanted to tell her.

  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. It was almost a chaste kiss, so simple and innocent. So different from the desire rampaging through him. She closed her eyes. Hesitantly, her lips moved beneath his. He cradled her face in his hand, stroked her brow.

  The tip of her tongue briefly touched his upper lip. A renewed surge of arousal shot through him. Wanting to devour her, he quelled his instinctive response which might have frightened her away. He was rewarded with another brush of her tongue. Damn, did this Frenchie know how to kiss. Her tentative movements were the most arousing he had ever experienced.

  He responded in kind, but more briefly than she had. She seemed to hold her breath. Again he flicked his tongue at the underside of her upper lip, then away.

  She gasped and buried her fingers in his plaid and his hair, drawing him closer. Aye, lass, take what you need. With more subtle movements, he teased her with his tongue. She accepted each kiss, and came back for more, provoking him.

  A distant yell reached his ears but he didn't care. Someone whistled.

  Jerking away from him, she faced the window. "Merde." She jumped up and hurried from the room. Several clansmen and servants stood outside, staring up at him with huge grins.

  "Do you not ken how to give anyone privacy?" he yelled at them through the glass.

  They scurried away.

  "Aye, run now, you bastards." Now that they'd frightened Angelique away and ruined any chance he had of getting what he wanted most. His body was on fire with wanting her, his shaft standing stiff as a pike. "Saints!" He smashed a fist onto the desk and rose.

  "Patience," he muttered, inhaling deeply. At least Angelique was starting to like and trust him a bit more. He must nurture that. Not much longer until their wedding.

  So as to avoid the men in the great hall, he exited down the back stairs and strode to the stables.

  "I saw you leading a white horse earlier. Whose is it?" Lachlan asked the young groomsman.

  "The Lady Robertson arrived on it, m'laird."

  "Aha. I thank you."

  After looking the mare over and finding her strong and healthy, Lachlan found Chief Robertson standing before the fireplace in the great hall and asked him about the animal.

  The tall, stout man was dressed in the Lowland style, and sported a full beard. "My wife would have my head if I sold her favorite mare." He grinned. "But we have two more white mares if you'd like to look at them sometime."

  "Indeed, I would." A horse would be a wonderful wedding gift for Angelique, even if it was a few days late.

  He would make her like him or die trying.

  ***

  Angelique stood impatiently in her chamber as the maids assisted in putting the many pieces of her wedding gown on her. Camille directed. The gown was scratchy, and a bit too large besides, requiring that portions of it be altered. After the maids had styled her hair with elaborate, coiled braids, Camille placed a wreath of wild white roses and dried white heather upon her head.

  Unfortunately, Angelique was not enjoying this as much as she'd dreamed she would at fifteen. She had slept little last night as she'd overseen the final preparations for both the wedding and the feast. Even when she had gone to bed, nerves had kept her awake. Today the celebration had started early with breakfast for all the guests, then the dancing had commenced.

  She was relieved in some ways that she and Lachlan had already married, otherwise she'd be far more nervous. But of course, she dreaded tonight when she'd have to deliver on her promise to sleep with him. Her breathing seized and she grew a bit lightheaded. Put it from your mind and get through the day first.

  Minutes later, Heckie escorted her down the front steps and across the cobbled bailey. She was glad for his sturdy arm supporting her for her knees wobbled. I must be strong. She thought of the diamond pendant hidden beneath the dress, dangling between her breasts. This gift from her mother would give her strength. She imagined Maman, in her angelic form, gazing down and smiling. A slight calmness enveloped her.

  They followed the Drummagan piper. The shrill notes of the bagpipes stabbed at her ears. Smiling clansmen and women, along with people from the nearby village, lined both sides of the pathway, bowing, curtsying, shouting out well-wishes. She plastered a smile on her face and nodded to them. Before she was ready, she and her escort entered the small stone kirk within Draughon's exterior curtain walls.

  Her stomach knotted when she saw that every pew of the chapel was packed full. All rose when she stopped at the threshold. The huge stained glass window, which she'd always loved, glowed with brilliant colors in the sunlight. Lachlan stood before it in his Highland finery. But his belted plaid did not draw her attention; his smile did.

  She knew what he was happy about... the marriage bed that she'd promised him this night. She lowered her gaze, her hands shaking at the very thought of lying naked with him. She had seen what he had to offer and she feared he would hurt her terribly when he forced his way inside her. She cringed, remembering the helplessness she'd felt when Girard had invaded her and taken away her right to choose.

  Camille, standing up beside her as maid of honor, gave her a reassuring smile when she reached the front.

  Lachlan took her right hand in his. "You're lovely," he whispered.

  You are, too, she wanted to say, but could do naught but offer him a brief, wobbly smile. Her mouth was so dry she feared she would not be able to utter a word. Her white gloves prevented her from feeling the warmth of his roughened skin as she had during their first ceremony. She missed that small comfort.

  As the minister recited the ceremony, Angelique grew more aware of the many Drummagan clan members and other clan chiefs behind them, witnessing their lives being bound together.

  This time when Lachlan kissed her, she w
as ashamed to realize she welcomed his lips on hers and his tongue flitting into places it shouldn't with dozens of people looking on. If only the marriage bed involved kissing and not...coupling, she would be happy.

  Smiling, Lachlan tucked her hand around his elbow and they rushed down the aisle toward the exit. Outside, pistols fired toward the sky in a salute and the kirk bells rang out. A cheer went up from the guests and grain showered down upon them as they raced across the stone courtyard. Angelique could not help but join in the happiness. Before she realized it, she was laughing.

  Lachlan abruptly picked her up and kissed her again. Heavens! A brief but potent kiss. The crowd grew louder at this spectacle, with more shouts, whistles and laughter. She could not take her gaze from his smiling face as he carried her up the castle steps. At the threshold, one of the clanswomen gifted Angelique with a basket filled with bread and cheese. Lachlan then carried her into the great hall and set her in her garland decorated chair at high table, then sat beside her. Yes, he was having a grand old time, blast him. But so was she.

  ***

  "M'laird, Kormad is at the gates, demanding entrance," Bryson whispered in Lachlan's ear where he sat at high table during the wedding feast.

  The bastard had a lot of nerve. "You jest," Lachlan murmured low so no one else would overhear.

  Bryson shook his head, his dark eyes most serious.

  With the noisy celebration, music, and dancing going on, no one seemed to notice the interruption. "I'll be right back," Lachlan told Angelique, seated beside him, then followed Bryson to a more private area. "How many men with him?"

  "About a dozen."

  "Are they dressed for fighting?"

  "Nay."

  "Have Rebbie and Dirk meet me outside. Don't tell them why. And don't let any of the other guests nor my wife ken of this."

  "Aye, m'laird."

  "Send ten archers onto the roof."

  Bryson nodded and hastened away.

  Two of Lachlan's personal bodyguards followed him through the exit. He peered beyond the courtyard toward the gates. The sun was setting, casting Kormad and his party in silhouette outside the gates. Several Drummagan guards stood firm on this side.

  "What's this about?" Rebbie asked, joining him. Dirk and the rest of the men filed onto the castle steps.

  "We have uninvited guests." Lachlan nodded toward the gate. "Kormad, with a dozen men."

  The chief of Clan Buchanan shouldered his way into the small space. "Is Kormad looking for trouble?" he asked in a gruff voice.

  "We don't ken yet. They're not wearing armor."

  "Appearances can be deceiving."

  "Indeed."

  Several more men joined them, Drummagans and men from the other clans, all carrying swords or pistols. En masse, they approached the gates.

  "Kormad, how kind of you to pay us a visit," Lachlan said, staring hard into Kormad's malevolent dark eyes.

  "MacGrath—er, I guess I should call you Draughon now since you're the earl—good to see you again." His sneer didn't pass for a smile. "I wasn't invited to your weddin' feast. I'm hurt."

  "I didn't ken you were yet returned from London," Lachlan said, pretending he didn't know who had rained arrows upon them and injured Dirk.

  "I posted some of my men here to keep the Drummagan clan and Draughon Castle safe until a new laird arrived. I'm wonderin' what happened to them. Are they in your dungeon…or dead?"

  "Neither. I sent your men home to you with a message. Did you not receive it?"

  Kormad was silent a moment, frowning, his gaze darting about before landing on Lachlan again. "What message?"

  "The leader of your men refused us entrance. I challenged him to a duel and won. But I let him live so he could tell you that if you wish to possess Draughon Castle, you would have to come and try to claim it yourself. Is that what you've come for?"

  Kormad eyed Lachlan, then the men behind him—several powerful men including another earl, a baron, and three chiefs. Not to mention all their bodyguards and the armed Drummagans.

  Kormad laughed, fake and loud. "Nay. Of course not. My men were acting under their own foolish notions. I never told them to keep you or Lady Angelique out, only outlaws so the castle wouldn't be looted."

  "Well, I thank you for your concern. The castle is safe and in good hands now. You and your men are welcome to partake of the feast if you turn over all your weapons."

  Kormad hesitated. "I thank you for your hospitality, but I must be on my way. I only returned yesterday and I have much work to do."

  "I'm sure you do." More plotting and conniving.

  "A good eve to you, Draughon. And congratulations again on your marriage."

  "I thank you."

  Kormad and his men mounted, turned their horses about and rode away.

  "You should take one of his men or family members hostage. That would keep him in line," the Buchanan said.

  "He doesn't give a damn about his men," Rebbie said. "I wager that's why they ran away when you sent them packing, rather than face him with failure."

  Lachlan nodded. "Without doubt."

  "That one bears close watching," Buchanan said and returned inside. Most of the other men followed.

  Lachlan called Bryson aside. "See that all guards are at their posts. Tell me immediately if you see aught amiss."

  "Aye, m'laird."

  Lachlan mounted the steps.

  "I'll stay out here and keep watch," Dirk said, standing by the portal, his left arm in a sling and a sword in his right hand.

  "You'll do no such thing," Lachlan said. "You're still recovering from that arrow. Only last night you had fever."

  Dirk cast a suspicious glance about in the gloaming and lowered his voice. "How do you ken you can trust all the Drummagans? You don't even ken what kind of men some of them are."

  "I don't trust them. All we can do is be on guard at all times 'til they prove their loyalty." Nay, indeed, he suspected some of them were stealing from Draughon's coffers.

  Dirk nodded. "Still, I'll stay out here a while. 'Tis too loud in there."

  The wild, wary look in Dirk's eyes concerned Lachlan. "Do you ken something you're not telling me?"

  "Nay. I just don't like the feel of the air."

  ***

  Trying to ignore Lachlan's large warm hand lying on her shoulder as they sat together at high table, Angelique tugged the red satin ribbon, releasing the bow of the tartan wrapped gift. Two silver and brass, jewel-encrusted daggers lay within, one large and one small.

  "How lovely!" she said, running the pads of her fingers over the smooth rubies and emeralds studding the hilts of each. The sheaths were also decorated in the same manner.

  "Rebbie, you bastard." Lachlan grinned. "I cannot accept my portion of this gift."

  "You don't like it? Well then, 'haps I'll send it to Miles."

  "Nay, 'twould be sacrilege! I thank you, Rebbie." Lachlan shook his friend's hand with much enthusiasm. "You are too generous by far."

  She passed the daggers to Lachlan, then decided to keep her own. "Merci, Laird Rebbinglen. You honor us with this gift."

  "My pleasure, madame. I thought you might need something to help fight off this rogue."

  The men guffawed at that.

  Angelique's face felt scalded and she wondered if they knew exactly how hard she had fought him off. And now feared her reprieve was over. Turning her attention to the next gift, she untied the bow around a carved oak box and lifted the lid. Two silver goblets rested inside on dark green velvet. "Oh." She removed one. An oval onyx stone and an engraved dragon decorated the side.

  She had seen and touched this custom-made goblet before. In France. Girard. A sensation like ice water trickled through her body and she could scarce breathe. She glanced about the hall, skimming the dozens of faces. Where was he? Where was Girard?

  Chapter Nine

  "What's wrong?" Lachlan murmured in Angelique's ear.

  The goblet slipped from her fingers and he caught it.r />
  "Who is this gift from?" she whispered, her gaze darting into the back corners of the hall. No tall, vicious dark-haired man. No card or note inside the box.

  "Who shall we thank for this lovely gift?" Lachlan asked the large group filling the great hall.

  Murmuring followed and several heads shook. Some distance away, Camille's face paled.

  Angelique's hands trembled and nausea rose within her. Lachlan took the box from her and passed it to a servant.

  Mère de Dieu. Girard had come to kill her.

  "What happened to the music?" Lachlan called, motioning to the musicians. "Dance, everyone. Excuse us." He rose and held his hand down to Angelique. "Come," he said to her in a low voice. "I'm thinking you need a break from all the celebrating."

  She searched for Girard as Lachlan led her to the nearby solar. He lit candles and checked the room for guests. She had to speak with Camille immediately. Neither of them was safe.

  "What upset you so much about the goblets?" Lachlan asked, stopping before her. His tone was compassionate, but his amber eyes fierce. "You turned pale as a banshee and looked terrified of a sudden."

  As if he might see the answer in her eyes, she lowered her gaze and shook her head. "Nothing."

  "Don't lie to me, Angelique. I promised I wouldn't lie to you, and I expect you to promise me the same."

  She squeezed her eyes closed, fear climbing within her. "I cannot tell you."

  "Why?" he asked, his tone harsher now.

  She could not trust him with her deepest secrets. "I can only say... I have seen the goblets before. They were custom-made for a certain family. And the person who owned them is... not a nice person."

  "Is he French or English?" Lachlan demanded.

  "French."

  "And you last saw the goblets in France?"

  "Oui."

  "What was this man to you?" Lachlan's voice was now that of a hardened warrior.

  Her heart lurched. If she wasn't careful he would figure it out on his own. "I did not say this was a man."

  "You also failed to correct me when I asked if he was French or English."